Aftermath: The Age of Desolation
by Dismal-Spectre
Summary: POST GREAT WAR...In a war there are no true victors. As survivors pick up the pieces, a new danger looms on the horizon. Can Cybertron survive the next blow?
1. Chapter 1: The Remnant

**Aftermath**

Summary: Thousands of vorns after Great War, Cybertron is reduced to a shrunken shell of its former self. The Great War had triggered its apocalypse. In a mass exodus, thousands of inhabitants fled to other planets and colonies. But a handful chose to stay. This is their story… (Alt-verse, takes place after G1)

One-shot, unless suggested otherwise. ;)

----------------------------------

Taking in the desolate sight before him, Quickstealth wished he were back at the Shack, repairing equipment or tending to the ever-growing work at his desk. In no way did his job description include salvaging usable junk from the planetary refuse yard. Yet with the shortage of hands, one had to be flexible.

Debris crunched beneath his steps as he scanned his surroundings. Mounds of scrap metal, wiring, and shattered electronics stretched as far as the optic could see. Afar the towering slab-gray buildings of the shadows of Iacon loomed, shrouded in the billowing smog belched from the smelting factories hunkering along the Rust Sea. The acrid stench of oil and burnt circuitry added to the foul scene. All this was a grim reminder of the detrimental effect the Great War had on their world.

But that was eons ago, when the land was torn with strife, a sprawling hellish battlefield. Only the Elders recalled those dark times and would speak of tales of the endless murders and violence that prowled the streets. Those of the Remnant generation, children of those who did not leave during the mass exodus, knew none of this but were left the bitter inheritance of a post war reality. They did not revere the memories of Megatron and Optimus Prime as the Elders did, but saw them as mere giants of myth and legend, synonymous with death and decay.

And so Quickstealth was doing what was typical of mechs of his age. Salvage, repair, reuse. Such was the way of the junker.

A clatter from about 500 yards roused Quickstealth from his work and his hand went to his gun. He tensed, audio receptors activated at full range. For a moment he considered hurling one of his precious grenades but thought better of it. Until he was sure that it was a gang ambush, his hand would stay.

From the corner of his violet optics, he saw it. A bumbling figure ambled out from behind one of the skeletal frames of twisted metal. The battered mech smiled jovially at Quickstealth and waved a mismatched arm. His motley painted armor made him barely distinguishable from the junk around him.

"Quick, where the slag you've been?" the mech called out. "Most of the good stuff's been taken. You missed the load the Nova Star dumped this morning."

Reholstering his firearm, Quickstealth let out a sigh as he approached his old friend. "And let me guess, Rivet, you've got something that you think will interest me." Crossing his arms he stared expectedly at the stouter mech.

"Ah, come on, you know I've gotta make a living somehow." A broad crooked grin crossed Rivet's feature. "Just look at it. For once, I think you'll agree its worth something."

Shaking his head, Quickstealth began to regret not coming earlier. Among the pirate ships that use Cybertron as a dumping ground, the Nova Star was notorious for throwing out perfectly useable stuff. Rumor said that its crew was so successful in their raids they could afford the waste. Yet the backlog of invoices had kept Quickstealth from taking first pickings. It was scavengers like Rivet that he had grown to envy and resent. On one hand, the mech had a record for getting a hold of scare goods and was willing to sell. On the other hand, getting him to sell them at a decent price was a different matter.

Raising an optic ridge, Quickstealth gave the fellow junker a dubious look. "Worthwhile eh? That probably means it'll cost me more. Well, lets see this all-so-wonderful junk that you're harping about."

The toothy grin widened. "There's a sport, pal," he said, clapping a hand on Quickstealth's useless wing. By the stench of his breath, the jet could tell that the scavenger was at Maccadam's Oil House again. "I'm sure you'll get it in working order again. Of all the salvagers, you're the best. So the repairs will take you no time."

"Humph. Damage huh? Then can I expect a discount?" Quickstealth asked dryly as he followed Rivet.

A snort came from the other. "Not after the hell I went through to extract it." He brandished a crudely welded gash at his shoulder. "This I got off from a Chop. A far from easy getaway I might add."

Quickstealth hissed in sympathy. At least the wound looked authentic enough. The Chop gang was known for its ruthless possessiveness for the best spoils from the refuse. There were designated parts of the dump that they claimed as their turf. Only someone brave, or foolish, as Rivet would dare trespass.

At the outskirts of former Iacon, they entered the dingy bunker that served as Rivet's retro-rat hole. Anything and everything was stocked that the scavenger managed to get his greedy hands on. Somewhere in the mess was Rivet's recharge berth, but Quickstealth had yet to find it.

"Why your place had not burned down is a mystery to me," Quickstealth commented as he eyed the boxes stacked precariously in the corner. "So where is this junk you were talking about?"

A muffle voice came from the back of the room. "In a click, pal. I've hid it somewhere." More rummaging sounds ensued.

In the end, it took the two of them to haul enough crates aside to clear a spot. Placing a steel box there, they began attacking it with crowbars. The lid popped off with a reluctant screech. Brushing off the packaging foam, Quickstealth felt his mouth drop.

"You slagger. How the frag did you get a hold of this?" Nestled inside the box was a X-12 power engine. Small as it was, the device could be put to many uses. Already ideas of what he'd do with it went through Quickstealth's mind, but the foremost of them was for his salvaged hover cycle. Enough with his useless wings. He would not only fly, but do it with style.

"How much?"

"2000 cycles."

"1600, since it's broken."

"1700 and you've got a deal."

"Done."

They shook on it, each pleased with what they got. While bartering of goods was the most common form of exchange among the Remnant, the fact that Quickstealth was a salvager meant he traded his services of repairing things was a far more precious commodity. Whatever he fixed the scavenger could sell it at twice the normal value. By getting 1700 cycles of free labor, Rivet's profits would boom. Such was the hard bargaining of the market.

Judging by the extent of damage on the engine, Quickstealth reasoned he would have it repaired in about three mega-cycles.

"Enjoy it my friend." Rivet said with a wink. " 'Cause some poor Chop sure as hell won't."

-----------------------

Whistling a jaunty tune, Quickstealth entered the two room and garage home/shop lovingly known as the Shack. A persistent shrill whine came from the garage. With his newly acquired engine riding on his shoulder, he stepped in and found his sister sitting idly on the workbench. Her optics fixed on the form half-concealed under a dozer. The whining sound came from there.

" 'lo, Quick," the slender black femme greeted, waving an arc wielder. "Kup's as stubborn as ever trying to fix the factory truck. He's been at it since you've left." Her quick optics darted to the crate. "What'd you got there."

"Remember that old and busted thing I've been working on and off."

Shadowhydra jumped off the bench. "You don't mean…" Her lavender optics peered at the box he set down. A broad grin spread on her thin features. "By Primus, you didn't!" She laughed gleefully.

"He didn't what?" A gruff voice called from under the dozer. Dragging himself out was blue-green mech whose armor seen better days. But the sharp look in his sky blue optics still showed he had mind about him. Now he stared crossly at the younger mech and if it wasn't for the oil blotch on his forehead, Quickstealth would have bulked under it.

"Well? And what's this about old and busted?" he demanded. "You best not be talking about me."

"Oh Kup," Shadowhydra giggled. "We weren't picking on you."

"No sir. But just you feast your optics on this, Kup." Stooping Quickstealth revealed his engine. Sleek, equipped with hydro ion impulse cylinders, the engine left even the grizzled old mech speechless.

A whistle escaped his lips. "How much you got it for?"

"1700."

"1700. Not bad." Kup nodded his approval. "Presuming you can fix it. I guess I could give you a hand with it, but only if I get a turn on the hover cycle."

An exasperated sigh came from the other. "First Rivet, then it's you Kup. Is nothing free these days?"

A chuckle was shared among the three.

-----------------------------------

Sprawling atop the roof, Quickstealth stretched out his aching cylinders and smiled contently. Beside him, his sister sat, arms wrapped around her drawn up legs, chin resting on her knees. Her bright optics shining with contemplation.

For a long while they said nothing but watched as night veiled the land. A cool southern wind from the seas dispersed the last whips of smog that lingered. It was rare times like this that the moon shone with all its radiance, casting its silvery glow on the towers of the Iacon ruins. In this light the ancient city seemed surreal, haunting yet mysterious. The two could almost imagine the Cybertron Kup told them in his tales, the buildings alit with lights, the city gleaming as one massive many facet jewel.

Only then would they start talking.

"You know, Quick," she mused. "Do you ever wondered if what Kup says about Iacon can ever happen again?"

If he could, the silver-hued mech would have rolled his optics. As much as he loved his sister, there were times even he never understood her. As sparklings, they played a game in which they try to describe their own pre-war Iacon based on Kup's stories. Quickstealth knew that it was just mere fancies, a fantasy world to escape the reality of their own. Yet as they grew older, he began to wonder if Shadowhydra would ever come to the same realization. Every night on the rooftop she would gaze wistfully at the ruins, her mind dwelling in that world they had visited as children. Now, her strangeness upped another notched with this new question.

He mulled over her words before he replied. "Because things can't ever go back to the way they were before, Shadow."

The femme stared at him as if he were the insane one. "I'm not talking about the past, slagger. I say we build a new Iacon, better than even the old one Kup talks about." Standing, she stretched an arm in the direction of the ruins. "This, all of it, can be ours again."

"Frag. You talk as if you can conquer the world." Quick chuckled. "You're forgetting that it's the Chop's domain."

"What right do they have to keep it to themselves? It's a disgrace to Cybertron. Someone ought to face those thugs and give it to them."

Yet before the debate could escalate, they could hear Kup calling for them below. As he watched her disappear into the trap door, Quickstealth could not help but frown with worry. Though he joined them for dinner, his mind was ever replaying Shadowhydra's words.

------------------------

"Kup, do you have an astro-click?"

Those age-filled eyes raised up at him as the Elder put aside his datapad. "Sure thing. What's on your processor?"

The silver jet shrugged, not knowing how to begin. "It's about Shadowhydra. Lately, she's been a bit, well…"

"Problematic?"

"Crazy."

The grizzled vet shook his head, knowing where this was heading. "And you want me to stop talking to her about Iacon, the Great War, and all that. Am I right?"

"Exactly," Quickstealth blurted. Now that the cap was off he was building momentum. Kup's chuckling didn't help to stop the mounting tension in him. "I mean it Kup! You've filled her head with your stories. Now she thinks she can change the world."

Cackling, Kup stood up from the workbench and began wiping up the stray dust motes by the dozer. "Funny, at your age I thought the same thing. A little passion can't hurt nobody, son."

"But it can get you killed," Quickstealth growled. "You should have heard her on the roof, mouthing off the Chops. She acts as if she can take them all on."

Kup cleared his throat. "I trust our little 'Hydra is smarter than that. She's a bit impulsive, but she'd know better than to pick a fight with that lot." He stared at the younger mech. "You on the other hand, I'm more concerned about."

Quickstealth winced. "Please, Kup, we're talking about my sister here."

But the Elder ploughed on. "And I'll say it again each time you bring this topic up. Your sister, a dreamer as she is, at least lives with hope. What about you? Are you just going to continue through life as it's nothing more than one request order after another? No purpose, no aspirations? A pointless existence?"

"At least I'm the only one sensible around here," Quickstealth replied hotly.

"So simply accepting the Chops as the vigilante authority is being sensible? Good Primus," Kup sighed. "Have I taught you nothing? While it is good to let well enough alone, there are times you have to fight. The problem is you've become comfortable with the present situation that you can't see what you can change or even dare to change."

"As long as I we play by their rules they'll ensure protection against the other gangs. But I wouldn't mind a little change if it's possible." Quickstealth frowned. "But it would take a massive force to bring it about. Or are you suggesting we bring about another glorious war with false promises of peace?"

He turned his back on the Elder, and looked over his shoulder. "The Great War brought about the Age of Desolation. What would we accomplish if we destroy what little we do have?"

As the jet's footsteps faded away, Kup frowned. "At least Optimus Prime died with dignity, boy," he said quietly. "Which I could say otherwise about you." His features soften. "But then that's our fault isn't it? For in seeking to preserve life, we inevitably brought this on ourselves. In a war, there are no true victors."


	2. Chapter 2: Harbinger

Aftermath: The Age of Desolation 

Chpt. 2

In the vast emptiness of space lie infinite possibilities, a trove of treasures. Billowing clouds of gases, planets of varying size and climate, quasars, comets, the list of wonders went on. There was a spacefarer's proverb that said that one can never view the heavens and remain unchanged.

But after eons of looking, these sights lost their charm for the captain of the star frigate Harbinger. As far as Axle was concerned, behind every one asteroid or nebula was a hidden danger. Being in a neutral zone did not guaranteed safe passage. On the contrary, it was the favored hunting ground for pirates. Striking with no mercy, they attack the caravan of cargo ships heading to the spaceport of Kavornum.

That was where his crew came in. They were to ensure that the trade barges reached their destination. Not out of good will do they do it nor out of duty. It was the fact that for every freight craft that docked at Kovarnum they'd receive 10 percent of the profit made from the sales. Yet as promising as it sounded, Axle wondered if it was worth the life-threatening situations they dealt with each stellar cycle. He recalled at least a dozen friends that perished from the onslaught of pirate ambushes.

Yet he wouldn't be anywhere else. As strenuous as the work was, the bridge was where he belonged, the center of action where life or death hinged on every decision. In the midst of battle, Axle thrived on the pressures and challenges his position entailed.

At the front of the ship, a golden stocky mech looked up at his commander. "Sir, we have clearance from the controller to dock."

Axle nodded. "Bring us in, Shock. The sooner we refuel the better."

It was times like this that the captain became wary. Once they were attacked by the Krypts as the Harbinger docked for repairs. The frigate took a severe beating before they retaliated by loading the escape pods with explosives and sending them crashing into the enemy ship's hull. Since then, Axle had a security team on stand by if the case arose again.

Before them Kavornum sprawled, a massive circular space station suspended thousands of megamiles above the icy dwarf planet of Korin Nine. Four distinct districts, each ruled by a crime lord of the Brethren, embraced about the Citadel. Rumor said that in the days before the Great War the tower served as a sacred temple to Primus. Its once glistening white walls became tarnished by time and filth. Desecrated by the corruption and crime, it now was no more than a den for cutthroats, swindlers, prostitutes, and other disreputable company. Somewhere in that maze of gambling halls and brothels dwelled King Pin, the cruelest of the Brethren, a being that Axle had never seen but ruled with an iron fist.

Whether you were there for trade (legal or illegal), for "pleasure," or for any other secretive agendas, anyone was welcome, provided you paid the entrance fee of course. Extraction through tolls and custom fees added to the coffers of the Brethren. Those skirting the precept were never heard from again.

A gentle lurch meant that the Harbinger was connected with the fuel line. A second one indicated that the bridge had extended. A chorus of relieved sighs came from Axle's men.

"You know the rules, guys," the commander said. "Behave yourselves. Be back in one cycle."

Despite the brief break, Axle knew better than to let his guard down. Glancing over his shoulder, he dropped behind a merchant stall and disappeared down a crooked path. His stride came quick with purpose.

At the end of a back road street stood a seedy pub. Hemmed in by dark apartments, it stooped, as if stricken with age. Its equally wizen bartender gazed up as Axle strode it. Inquisitive eyes looked up from hooded cloaks, and the conversation level dropped considerably.

"He's in the back, Axe," he croaked, then returned to wiping a cracked shot glass with a filthy rag.

Passing the cantankerous and shifty patrons, Axle pressed on, reaching a dingy olive green booth. From an energon margarita, the white armored occupant looked up with his sole good blue optic. The left one was a pearl-grey, crystallized and fused to its socket. A long white gash ran from the right cheek to the corner of the sullen mech's mouth.

"You're late," he grumbled and downed the glass in one swing.

Axle scowled at that but said nothing. If the fragger thought that then let him be. Rule one of Kavornum: The customer is damn right and hell if you prove him wrong. Slipping into the seat across, Axle bent close and took the datapad his companion shoved at him. Nothing more than a compilation of names, most of which their owners were marked either dead or missing.

"That's my research so far," the other mech said. "How about yours?"

Axle frowned at his own notes. "About fifty of them are confirmed destroyed. The status of seven remains unknown, but I think I got a lead."

"On which one?"

"The one called Kup."

An amused grin crossed his patron's lips. "Figured. The motherfragger always was too stubborn to die."

Axle nodded, only half understanding. It was lifetime before his and what was remembered was exaggerated or fabricated in the history he knew. Something about fighting for glory and all that. All he knew was that the struggle had resulted in the world they lived in today. Not something he would take pride in.

It was by pure chance he came across the tip on Kup's whereabouts. While on patrol within the Deltoid Vector, he pursued the Nova Star to the empty shell of Cybertron. But the pirates evaded capture by dumping whatever they had aboard and jumped to warp, easily outstripping the Harbinger. Axle had the ship land for repairs. It was there he met a battered scavenger who was a bit too gregarious for his good (eager for news of the outside world, Axle supposed). Sure enough the commander found his quarry at a run down repair shop but did not confront him. It was up to his patron to call the shots now.

"You still haven't told me the purpose of your search," Axle continued. "I've done as you said and sought him out, so what now? You got a personal vendetta against him? You want him dead? If so, I can't help you. I'm an informant, not an assassin."

The other mech let out a dry chuckle. "You've done your side of the deal, friend." He tossed a greasy bag unto the table and stood. "Thanks for the services."

Slightly put off, Axle stared at the money as if he couldn't figure what to do with it. That was it? No explanation for the trouble? Curiosity ate at him like acid. What would anyone want with the sole survivor of the Great War? Just when he thought he'd seen everything, the fates were merciful to throw off balance his monotonous life.

With that in mind, Axle reached up and griped the older mech by the forearm, causing the other to look at him with surprise. "Look," he said. "I don't know what your agenda with this Kup is, and perhaps it's best that I don't know, but if you're looking for a ride to Cybertron I'm willing to take you aboard my ship."

"Oh I can't possibly intrude…"

"You can't find a better deal," Axle insisted. "I've seen your pathetic excuse of a shuttle. You wouldn't last a nano-klick outside neutral space. There are other captains who would charge you leg and optic for the trip. Some of their ships aren't space worthy. My Harbinger is sturdy and fast. I know what places pirates lurk and can avoid them. If you want a safe journey, you wouldn't find a better offer."

Optics wide, the other mech was taken back. "And here I thought not a decent being lived on this Primus-forsaken junk heap." He let out a cynical laugh. "But surely there's an ulterior motive? You don't exactly look to be the charitable type."

"I'm not," came the reply. "But you've got my interest piqued. And believe me, I need the excitement."

"Huh. I hope you thought this through, kid," his companion said gruffly. "This isn't some damn adventure that youths your age are fond of."

Axle inclined his head, not taking offense. "With all due respect sir, my taste of adventure died when I took command of the Harbinger. Something a little out of the ordinary would do me a wonder of good."

The other mech gazed at his younger cohort. There was truth in his words. Despite the captain's youthful appearance, his optics were jaded with the experiences of pain and suffering that entailed with his job. There was emptiness in them, a yearning for things beyond what disappointment he knew.

Maybe, just maybe, this little journey out of the norm would return his zest for life.


	3. Chapter 3: Sibling Conflict

Chapter 3

Once upon a time the Forum of Enlightenment housed the greatest minds of Cybertron. From all provinces they came, scholars, philosophers, mathematicians, scientists. Gathering together they shared their newest research or debate over the latest theory. To the north gate the Crystal Gardens dazzled the imagination, displaying the creativity of visionary artists and sculptors. And there to the southwest beyond the Chamber of Ancients stood the Grand Convention Hall of the Civics where the most exemplary playwrights and dancers entertained the masses.

All of them, gone, vanished into the mists of time, victims of an age old conflict. The Hub of Iacon, once filled with life, was no more. A dread silence hung over the former pride of Cybertron, yet the echoes of voices and footsteps could still be heard among the skeletal ruins, ghosts of a world long since passed.

But their children remained, their slum dwellings clinging to the foot of their former glory. Yet they ignored their ancestors and turned instead their eyes to the ground, forgetting who they were or what they could become. Hardening their hearts, they strayed from the wisdom of their forefathers. The few who dared to raise their gaze could only marvel at the remnants of their bygone heritage, humbled as if standing on the sacred ground where giants once walked.

It was to these that Kup devoted his life to, embracing those who yearned for goodness and truth that the world had rejected. In a way it was his atonement for his sins and the sins of his predecessors, a final plea to Primus to not condemn this generation to their ignorance.

At least that what Kup kept telling himself each time he wanted to kill the young punks causing trouble in his class. For as charitable he was in taking the children of the Remnant under wing, there were limits to his patience.

"Turnabout, I mean it. Next time you…That's enough, Gearshift…Stop talking and pay attention, Nutbolt…For crying out loud! Take that out of your mouth, Wheelskid!"

It was on this particular day the old war vet wondered if anything he did would ever stop the self-destructing trend society was headed. Had his efforts been in vain? Was it impossible to undo the damage that the Great War inflicted?

Kup sipped at the glass of cheap oil in his hand. Its taste was bland and its texture coarse, complimenting the sour mood he was in. With a disgusted sigh, he hurled the rest of the contents into the waste disposal.

The Elder pressed his wrists against his brow. His back leaned against the half-repaired dozer. "Hell, where did we go wrong, Optimus? We felt so sure, so confident that we'd create a world of peace and justice. How could everything turn out this way?

Unanswered questions. The great game of 'what if?' Blames and regrets. That's what it all came to in the end each time he reflected on the hopelessness of it all. Each time left him more miserable than before. And still he tormented himself this way.

But the most dominant of these thoughts were self-doubt. Being the last of the Great War survivors, Kup felt inadequate in teaching this generation to learn from their ancestors' mistakes. He was old and tired, obsolete in the eyes of today's society. If it had been Optimus who lived, or Prowl, Jazz, or even Hot Rod, the chances for healing a war-torn world could be possible.

A gentle thumping down the stairwell pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Shadowhydra approaching, her arms filled with data pads, really for her lesson.

It was by looking at her that Kup remembered. Though few are those willing to listen, it was for their sake that he lived. As long as the thirst exists, he would slake it, not with the bitterness of the cheap oil this world gives, but the purest of energon that hope and truth would offer.

Renewed in his sense of purpose, he stood, opened his mouth and began to speak.

It was nearing morning by the time he entered through the reinforced doors. Weighed down by the finds he recovered from the junkyard, Quickstealth stooped as if shouldering the very burden of the world. Weary, he tossed the mess aside with resignation.

Tonight had been particularly difficult. He had only managed to barely return to the Shack in one piece. Despite the patrols by the Chops, a few members from the Skulls gang had slipped pass their defenses and killed anyone under the protection of their rivals. Twice they missed, striking non-vital areas. His fellow junkers were not so lucky. Five were struck down immediately, another two were captured. Those two would live only until the Skulls no longer found them useful, and would cast their broken bodies into the smelting vats.

It was horrors like these that he shielded Kup and Shadowhydra from by taking it upon himself to collect things from the refuse for their livelihood. Despite their pleas, he kept silent about what he saw. They would never let him go otherwise.

Glancing at the oil his sister had prepared for him, he gave a van smile, touched by the simple gesture. He downed it one single motion.

For a long moment he paused at the top of the stairs, considering whether to sleep in the garage to avoid disturbing Kup. As he turned to descend, however, he saw that Shadow's door was ajar. A weak beam of light filtered through the crack.

Figuring she had forgotten to turn it off again, he pushed through and stepped into her bedroom. He was startled to find her still awake, sitting up in her recharge berth as if she waited the whole time for him. Then she rose to greet him.

"Quick, I heard the gunfire and I was afraid for you," she breathed as she embraced him.

He shrugged it off. "You didn't need to wait up for me, sis," he said when his optics fell on the data pad in her hand. From where he stood he could easily make out the scrawl of Kup's handwriting. A wave of anger, indignation, and frustration rose in him. Without warning, he snatched the pad from her and she gasped in surprise.

"Quick, please! Give that back!"

"No, I'm fed up with this pit-slag. When will you face facts, Shadow?" he demanded., keeping the object from reach. "When will you realize that this stuff is nonsense? It has no place in the real world."

Shadowhydra gritted her teeth, fighting to take back what was hers. "So what, am I suppose to live my life with no hope and die of despair? At least Kup's stories give me something to look forward to."

"But these are things that don't exist anymore."

"But it could happen again. If only we would fight for it."

"It's the past and the sooner you stop escaping into it the sooner you can stop living in this fantasy. Listen, I know that the world is a hard, cold place, but as long as we have each other, we'll make it through. We don't need this refuse to tell us how to run our lives."

"You don't understand!" Her voice rose. "How could you? You gave up living and just go through it, no more aware than the machines you repair. You've forgotten how to dream."

"Primus. Look, maybe I'm reading this the wrong way. Maybe you're doing this to make Kup happy."

"What?"

"I know somehow that you're doing this to help him. But it isn't the right way. Kup has to learn to stop blaming himself and let go of the past. You can't keep encouraging him to continue this foolishness."

"Damn it, don't go pulling that psychological frag on me! The problem with you is that you don't want to listen to what he has to say. You never respected him."

Briefly taken back by this, Quickstealth's grip slacken ever so slightly. She made one more lunge for the pad, but missed and lost her balance, falling into her brother. The two tumbled into a heap on the floor with a curses and a loud crunch. Groaning they pulled themselves up, with Shadow gasping at the source of the sound.

Shattered, wiring protruding through its casing, lay the fragments of the data pad. And with it the remains of the story that she had been so engrossed in. Fury boiled within her and she reached out, striking her fist against his face. He stared at her in bewilderment, his cheek stinging from the blow.

"You insensitive bastard!" she shrieked. "To the pit with you!" With that she turned on him and dashed from the room. By the time he reached the threshold, he caught a glimpse of her heel disappearing into the trap door. It locked with a click, effectively shutting him out.

For a moment the grey-white jet stood there, a turmoil of rage, hurt, and disappointment churning in him. With a growl he slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a deep impact in its smooth surface.

Damn him. Why did Kup have to do this to them? Why couldn't he listen to reason? Quickstealth hated how this foolishness divided them, forcing his sister to choose between them with little mid-ground. It made no sense. The very ideals that Kup taught her were the same ones that led to the Great War and inevitably the Age of Desolation. Was he trying to repeat the same mistake?

Quickstealth's violet optics glared at the door to Kup's bedroom, frustrated that somehow the old mech had manage to sleep through it all, unaware of what his stubbornness had caused.

Dejected, Quickstealth slumped his way into the garage downstairs, taking the makeshift recharge berth. It seemed like only a breem had passed before he was waken again.


	4. Chapter 4: The Inferno

Chapter 4: Inferno

By mid early morning the Cybertronian sun had turned its cruel gaze upon the land. Its eye bore down mercilessly upon any exposed metal, discoloring and peeling away the white-wash from the fences enclosing the slums of bygone Iacon. The ruins shimmered, distorted by the sea of invisible fire that stifled the city.

Yet to most of its inhabitants, this would have been a blessing.

Trapped, huddled within the scorching confines of the smelting factories, they could not find relief from the burning heat. The air was heavy and oppressive, thick with smoke and ash. It coated their ventilation filters, obstructing the passages of their airways. Those unclaimed by the fumes were usually taken by the mighty cogs that ran the clockwork. Too often limbs could be found among the gears, with the occasional broken body. And if one was not careful where to step, the molten flow from the smelting vats could become a fiery pyre.

Like drones they were divided, each according to their skill and efficiency. The smiths pounded out sheets of metal. Sparks of fire-red came with each blow, illuminating their gaunt faces. The ringing of their hammers punctuated the air. Nearby, the less skilled recyclers picked among the refuse, removing what could be used and casting out the rest. Their work was ever a hazard as hidden explosives and poisons hid among the debris. Only the most capable of them ran the dozers that added to the ever growing collection to be sorted. At the bottom rung, shovelers tended to the whims of the eternally hungry flames of the blast-iron furnace, exposing themselves to its radiation and heat.

Regardless of their positions within the hellish system, all bore the same ashy, ghostly appearance; the same vacant stare, as if they were no more sentient that the tools and machinery they operated.

Day in day out, in the raging inferno, nothing changes and time was endless. Yet no one spoke against it. Doing so would mean losing everything. For every worker fired, ten more would fight to replace him in the assembly line. Between poverty and unemployment, it was wise to take what one can get, even at the expense of one's dignity. Few ever aspired to become salvagers, sellers, scavengers, or any other member of the higher professions. They weren't skilled enough. But that was what the Chops wanted. Keep the masses stupid and they were easier to manipulate and control.

Roadtorque knew this and resented it with every circuit in her being. She swore one day that she'd break out of the system and become what she wanted, not allowing others to force her into a mold they could exploit. But with little chance of mobility, she knew it was hopeless…Until one day…

There was nothing that indicated that anything was out of the ordinary. It was just the same mindless work, moving junk from the landfill to the dock to have it processed. The dozer beneath her rumbled; billows of black smoke rising from its stack. Once she joked that the damn thing would probably outlive her. Unfortunately she was wrong.

It began with a whining sound that grew with intensity as she made her rounds, and suddenly the machine came to a grinding halt. Frustrated she jumped down and tried to "fix" it her way.

"Worthless piece of slag!" she yelled, kicking it with relish. "Good for nothing junk. Turn over, damn you."

At any rate, Roadtorque would be still in the same mess until she became aware that someone was watching her. "What are you gawkin' at, retro rat?" she demanded of the ebony armored femme.

A smile crossed the other's delicate features but she didn't seem to be laughing at the expense of the recycler. Rather, she was more amused than anything. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare, but I couldn't help notice your predicament." Her violet optics trailed to the offending dozer.

Roadtorque shrugged, kicking at a shard of scrap metal. "I ain't ever got much luck with these damn contraptions."

"Well, maybe I can be of use. I'm not a full fledged salvager like my brother Quickstealth, but I know a few things." At that the strange femme began to remove the panel at the dozer's side. A mess of tubing and wires crisscrossed everywhere that it made Roadtorque dizzy looking at it.

"Sure you know what ya doing?" the recycler drawled.

"I guess." Her slender fingers began to prod at the intricate parts. "My name is Shadowhydra by the way."

"I'm Roadtorque," the other replied, looking over the other femme's shoulder. "But the boys down in allocations call me the Terror. A title I think fits me jest fine."

Shadowhydra gave a light chuckle at that. "Well Miss Terror, it seems you've broke a cylinder. It would need some extensive repairs to get the dozer running again."

"Aw slag it. Now I'll be stuck doing the sorting work till it's fixed."

"I could refer you to my brother if you'd like. I'm sure he'll get it done, that's if he isn't out collecting more junk from the landfill again. But I'm sure Kup and I could give it a try."

Roadtorque's optic ridge rose. "Sounds good. Except who's Kup?"

A loud crash followed by a yelp drew their attention as a blue-green elderly mech stumbled towards them, a bucket stuck to his foot. "Hey there, 'hydra," he greeted. "They have our order ready. Just let me finish the paperwork and we'll be off."

"Kup, this is Roadtorque. She kinda needs our help." Shadowhydra explained the situation.

Glancing at the machine himself, Kup whistled. "Well, Roadtrip. The only way we can get a full diagnosis is to bring it back to the Shack."

"It's Roadtorque," the femme replied, unimpressed. "As for the transport of this thing, leave it to me."

-----------------------------

In all his years Kup had never saw any femme strong enough to push a dozer from one end of Iacon to the other by herself. Primus, she must have one heck of a built in hydraulic system. As he began to run the analysis scans, he eyed out of the corner of his optics that Shadowhydra was conversing with Roadtorque over one of the data pads he'd given to his pupil to read.

What a contrast they were. Whereas Shadowhydra was slender, black, and feminine in appearance, Roadtorque looked built to carry heavy loads and was more durable to face any condition. Bulkier, sturdy, and strong, she defined the common smelter. Through the layer of ash coating her, Kup was almost certain that at one point her body armor was a bright fiery orange.

Afar the two femmes watched Kup as they gazed over the data pad.

"If my suspicions are correct," Shadowhydra whispered. "I would assume Kup is checking you over as much as he is for the dozer."

A snort came from the other. "Hell, I hope not. Nothing is more disturbing than having a pervy old codger checking my aft out. If he so much as put a finger on me, I'd show him why they call me the Terror."

Shadow stifled back a chuckle. "I didn't mean it that way, Roadtorque. It's just that he never seen a femme quite like yourself. But he's harmless really."

"Well, you're pretty strange yourself to be reading these scratches. What's this about again?" Roadtorque's yellow optics narrowed at the writing on the data pad.

"It's a narrative about the battle of Sherman Dam on a planet called Earth." Shadow explained with rising excitement in her voice. After all it was one of her favorite passages. "It's where Optimus Prime and Megatron faced off after reawakening from a 4 million year old sleep."

Roadtorque whistled. "Now that's what I call taking an energon leak."

For a few cycles, Shadow was free to discuss her passion with someone other than Kup. In Roadtorque, she found a desire to learn of things beyond the typical smelter experience. Her curiosity seemed boundless, almost matching in Shadow's enthusiasm. Many times the recycler would beg the salvager to read many of the passages out loud rather than summarize them. As for Shadow, it was like re-looking at the story with new eyes, like rediscovering a new secret within the text she had read but missed. In the end, Shadowhydra was convinced by Roadtorque to give her reading lessons. The black femme could not be any happier.

Kup did not bother them; instead he did the work by himself. It was not that he minded. As long as he had gained a new follower, he was content. Instilling a love for the past and reading was sacred to him. And damn him if he would take it from them.

-----------------------

It was a few days after when Roadtorque was able to get away from the smelting work. She had already used up all her sick days and it took much persuasion to get her supervisor to let her off. Although she told him that she needed to stop by the salvagers' villa and pick up the dozer, he resentfully gave her leave, granted that she return in the next shift. From her lockers Roadtorque shoved the thin data pad into her sub dimensional pocket, watching for straying optics. There was no telling what they'd do to her if she was caught with it.

Stepping into the Cybertronian sun, she breathed easily in the fumes-free air. There was never enough time to enjoy it.

From the seaside wharf, she walked into the heart of the Market, the center where thousands bustled and haggled among the clutter of stalls and shops. Merchants displayed their wares at their storefronts, which ranged from the common goods like oil and gasoline to the more rare luxury items like energon crystals and propulsion thrusters.

The Market comprised of villas where those of similar trade or craft dwelled together, the most common ones being the grottos of salvagers, scavengers, healers, and forgers. Sprinkled among them in ample supply were the bars and brothels, the bane of smelters who squandered what little they earn for shameful pleasures.

As she passed the smoking fires of the forgers, Roadtorque felt a twinge of envy. For though the smelters and the forgers were akin to working conditions, the products of their labor greatly differed. Whereas the former merely melted down junk to make slabs of metal for ship hulls and building materials, forgers crafted the same refuse into a variety of wonderful items. Intricate jewelry, ornate vases, and even weapons are some of the many items they produce with such skill and precision. From the trash heaps of Cybertron they forged beauty. Roadtorque smiled, realizing that her dream of becoming one of these artisans was becoming a reality as she felt her reading skills improve. Someday…

She had just turned the corner to enter the salvagers' villa when she saw it. Two strange mechs were ambling about the Shack. Their dress was foreign and their accent was not of the Remnant. Their armor had neither a speck of filth nor their cloaks were faded and tattered. Rather the fabric shone with radiance and was pressed. The oddest thing about them was not their appearance however, but their awkward behavior as they looked unsure of entering the Shack. They hung back, trying to look oblivious.

Roadtorque knew trouble when she saw it and these mechs clearly looked every bit of it. Slipping into a side alley, she came up to the back door of the tiny shop. Grasping the tassel she tugged it until the sound of heavy footfalls approached from within. With a hiss, the double metal doors parted and a haggard mech's face poked out. The light in his violet optics seemed dull as if he had awakened from a charging cycle.

"Are you Shadowhydra's brother? Quickstealth?"

"Yeah. What do you want?" he slurred. "Can't you see the sign on the door? We're closed."

"In the middle of the day?" Roadtorque asked incredulously. "This is the busiest time."

The jet shrugged and stifled a yawn. "Kup and Shadow are out in the Market buying replacement parts. And I'm not in the mood of working till they get back."

"Well you may not know it but you gotta couple guests at your door."

At that he stiffened and looked suddenly wide awake. "What do they look like? Are they Skulls?" Clearly he had a bad run-in with them, Roadtorque realized. He gestured her to enter quickly. Only until the doors were tightly shut did he continue their conversation.

"Nah, it ain't them rough necks," Roadtorque said, answering his question. "They look from outta town, maybe from one of them space colonies like Colonus Twelve or the Sigma Settlement. But they're dressed real decent, not at all from the slums like us." She gave him her account.

A swirl of possibilities circled in the mech's mind. What would two Outsiders want? Who were they looking for? What brought them to this backwater planet?

Striding over to the steel cabinet, he withdrew his Twindicer, his must trusted gun. The double barreled weapon hummed as he clicked in a clip. If hell came, he was prepared. But there was no telling what kind of firearms these mechs had.

"Listen, um…"

"Roadtorque."

"Roadtorque, do you have something to defend yourself with?" Though he did not know her, he'd rather trust a fellow junker than any Outsider.

Roadtorque nodded. "Course." She took out her Shiner blade, which Quickstealth eyed skeptically. The knife looked puny in her hands. "I'd rather fight barehanded, mind you. Weapons take the fun out of fair play and fisticuffs."

If the situation wasn't so dire, Quickstealth would have laughed. Instead, he slipped his gun into its shoulder holster under his cloak. His time in the junkyard had taught him to be ready for anything.

"So do you always make it a habit to threaten potential customers? Shoot first, ask questions later?" she joked, easing the tension a bit.

"Sometimes, only if they're those Sacred Text-thumpers who say I'm going to hell for using Primus' name in vain."

The front doors opened and they went out to meet whatever their visitors brought in their wake.


	5. Chapter 5: Calm

Aftermath: The Age of Desolation

Chapter 5

Shadowhydra's mood had not improved since last night. The lack of recharge and the argument with her brother had drained whatever little patience she had. Luckily, Kup had noticed the cold exchange of glances between them to know that they needed time apart to cool off. So after the morning meal, he asked her to accompany him to the Market to restock their placement parts stockpile. Shadow immediately took up the offer.

After their jaunt through six different stores and stalls, they headed back by taking the seaside road, enjoying themselves and not bothering to return so soon. The brown-red waters of the Rust Sea lapped at the wharf in its gentle churning. Above the cyber gulls cartwheeled and spiraled in the cool breeze that danced along the coast.

It was moments like this that Shadowhydra treasured. At peace, she could freely discuss with Kup what her heart desired. He was a good listener, and an even better confidant. They'd discuss novels they read (data pads gleaned from the remains of the Cybertronian library) or Kup would share one of his old war tales. She in turn told him her dreams and her fears. Yet the topic of this session was what she wanted to avoid. Nevertheless Kup eased her into it.

"He's been a bit difficult last night, hasn't he?" Kup began gently, allowing her time to reflect.

For a while she stood, biting her lip as she stared at the murky waters, unsure of how to start. "It's been getting worse," she admitted, not meeting the Elder's eyes. "Primus, I get so angry at him sometimes, and this fights just one of the many as of late."

Kup frowned, shaking his head. "That boy is just so headstrong, not quite unlike a friend I used to know. Though Hot Rod wasn't inclined to let things well enough alone."

She turned to him. "But that's just it. Quickstealth is just so determined to prove you wrong, that all you've taught me will lead me into trouble. He thinks nothing good will ever come out of hoping."

Kup nodded solemnly. "Give him time, lass. He'll come around. How fare your studies?"

"Dismal. Quickstealth's thick head broke the data pad you gave me." This earned a snort from the Elder.

That's when they heard it, a series of explosions that seemed like distant thunder. It took a while for them to locate its source before a glint of light drew their attention. From about 50 megamiles off the coast loomed the abandoned Halifax Spaceport. Back in the day it had been used as a landing point for interstellar spacecrafts. Yet as time passed, and ships no longer could transverse the heavens, the wide slab was left to ruin. Crusted debris clung to its side, dark as the sea.

The light on the horizon grew steady and the rumbling increased, until they could make out the form of a craft. Like a monster of legend it came, parting the clouds in its wake. It descended from the midst of time, the colossal starship glided over them, shrouding them in its massive shadow. Their audio receptors pounded under the roaring of its great turbines. White, sleek, and bullet-shaped with built in turrets, no Market shipwright could ever create such perfection. Its hull seemed hewn from one single sheet of metal, not like the patchwork the Remnant used. Then it passed and perched itself atop the Halifax, like a guardian of the walls.

"Great Primus," Kup murmured, his optics wide. "It's been many vorns since I've set eyes on a beauty of a craft like that."

But what was déjà vu to Kup was a novelty for Shadowhydra. Raised in a generation where the largest ships were garbage sky barges, she was witnessing a marvel. Even the greatest pirate ships paled in comparison. It was as if what had existed only in her history texts had come to life. It took a while before she found her voice again. "Kup, I thought you said that all the war birds were destroyed during the Great War."

He nodded. "Indeed they were, or so I thought."

Even from afar, they could see it. The afternoon sun glinted off its silvery side, the emblem on its hull flashed. There was no mistaking the faction insignia despite that time had faded it to a rusty hue. Autobot.

Kup felt his spark swell in its laser core, and a single tear of energon ran down his cheek. He swallowed, feeling the lump in his vocal processor. Down to the very last positron in his being was moved with pride and sorrow.

"Till all are one."

The words came so naturally to him, resurfacing after ages of dust in his memory banks. How long had it been! The memories came, places and faces of those he called friends. All of them gone, yet so dear. The insignia represented more than a faction, more than an ideal.

As the shock wore off however, Shadowhydra began to wonder what the appearance of the star frigate bode. Had pirates came to raid their city? What business would they have landing here? Suddenly worry began to mount in her.

A hiss of white steam issued from the starboard side of the ship and a miniscule shuttle launched from its bay. Heading due south, the tiny craft vanished into a bank of cloud.

A tightening feeling came from in her chest. "Kup, isn't that shuttle headed for the South District?"

At that, her mentor snapped out of his trance, his mind fast-forwarded to the present, the feeling of dread overtaking him as well. He frowned. "We have to get back to the Shack immediately." With that, he transformed, taking on his alt mode, startling Shadowhydra who had only seen his Cybertronian vehicle form only once. (Rarely anyone used their alt mode these dark days after the war, since its consumption rate of energy exceeded what fuel resources were available.)

Well this day just keeps getting interesting, Shadowhydra thought.

Taking his example, she did likewise. Focusing her mind, the change began. After much whirls and clicks from her gears, her body structure plating rearranged themselves. Rotors extended from her back and sliced at the air. Suddenly she was afloat. It was a strange sensation to be back in the air again after being land bounded for so long. It was as if she was freed from what tied her below, an exhilarating rush that she would have enjoyed hadn't there been more pressing matters.

Easily Shadowhydra outstripped the slower Kup and led the way back to their home, hoping that she was not too late.

-----------------------------------

Eyeing the instrumentation panels of the Starlight Mark II, Axle adjusted their trajectory. Their destination was about 20 megamiles from their arrival point. Looking below, however, one could not distinguish where one district began and which ended. To the Harbinger commander, the whole clutter was one big slum metropolis.

Frankly, he never would have expected that so many transformers could live on such a wasteland. As he recalled, their former ancestral home world was totaled in the war. Under the onslaught of fires, explosions, and uncontrolled extraction of resources, the planet in every right should be deemed uninhabitable, at least according to astrologists' records. To see this lone colony eking out a living was not only astounding, but a miracle of the cosmos. Life had not only survived but thrived in the impossible.

As far as he could tell the fragile lifeline of the Remnant depended on the illegal dumping from the pirate ships. The thugs cast off things carelessly, wasting what was not theirs. Capturing shiploads of goods, they would accidentally take tanks of oil, the most cheapest and plentiful fuel. Having no fondness of the crude energy source, they deposited it on Cybertron, along with what other items they want to rid of. The dead planet, they knew, was outside of Kavornum's jurisdiction…

At least until now. Within the Citadel, King Pin had watched with ravenous eyes as the colony on Cybertron grew. His scouts reported that though it had nothing of great economic value, promise could be found in its labor force. There was talk among the Brethren to annex the colony of Iacon into the trade empire of Kavornum and use its people to produce cheap goods to be sold at high prices at the spaceport. At first the crime lord rejected the idea, believing that the inhabitants would perish. Yet as the colony thrived, the suggestion began to have merit. King Pin even joked that Iacon owed its existence to the loss of his profits. Therefore he reasoned, in every right, Cybertron belonged to him.

Axle was bothered by this more than he should be. But why? What was Cybertron to him? The war had claimed to his father, Steelheart, on that very planet. Steelheart, lieutenant in the 27th Autobot Space Brigade, lost his life defending it. He fought a lost cause and in the end lost everything. Yet here was Axle, many vorns later, concerned about what the ambitions of his boss would do to a people he never knew. Heck, he wasn't even born or raised on Cybertron to pledge allegiance to it.

At times he wondered if he was the fool instead of his father. What if Steelheart was right? In the end it didn't matter who won since the apocalypse would still come, only dying for what you believed in counted. His father died with a sense of purpose. Axle had yet to find his.

The thought haunted him for many orns. After the enticement of wealth as part of King Pin's defense forces, the gold had began to lose its luster. His life had become nothing more than one battle after another, protecting profits that gave him no peace of mind. It seemed so pointless to keep fighting until one was dead. Only the action on the bridge was what kept him from slipping into depression. But it was only a cheap hit that held him over until the next stupor.

So here he was on a wild chase, trying to find some old survivor of that cursed war, working for a mech whose humor could curdle energon. How appropriate. His life went from monotone to outright random. Slag, he must be losing his mind. At least it was different. Hell, he might find the reason why his father was so willing to give up his life for this scrap heap of a planet.

A clearing of a throat jostled him from his reverie. The white mech in the passenger seat shook his head as he scanned the monitor with his good optic. "I can't figure for Alpha Trion's beard why Kup would chose to live out the rest of his life in this dump," he gripped.

Axle shrugged as he looked for a good landing spot. He found one on the roof of an abandoned shop. Firing the fore thrusters, he slowed their descent. "Maybe it's the cheap rent," he suggested, getting an exasperated look for his trouble.

"You know, it's funny how you haven't bothered to ask my name."

"Don't want to, don't need to," Axle replied as they climbed out. "As much as most folks follow Kavornum's rule of 'cash given, no question asked' policy, I'm not one of them. My own motto is 'your business is my business.' It comes with the pirate hunting job."

The older mech laughed. "Okay, try me. What do you know?"

"Plenty," the Harbinger captain replied casually. "Your name is Sidesweep, the self-proclaimed renown scientist and theorist. During the Great War, you were not allowed to serve in the Autobot army because of you were still a student at Vector Province University and because your projects were deemed impractical for military use. Your current research usually focuses on the principles of space and time. The project you're working on now involves recreating the warp gate technology that was lost to us after the Great War."

"Sounds about right," Sidesweep said. "Of course you're only generalizing your findings. I bet you know a slagful more than you let on."

"I know that you like the occasional bingeing of purified energon shot if that helps. At least you over energize in style."

Approaching the Shack (an appropriate name for the building), they found that it was locked. Already they were getting stares from the locals.

"That's great. They're still closed," Axle muttered. "Now what?"

"We wait," Sidesweep replied simply. "Guess we should have booked an appointment, huh?" 


	6. Chapter 6: Taking Flight

Aftermath: The Age of Desolation 

Ch. 6: Taking Flight

The Great War had been long over with the sudden doom that befell both factions during the battle at Autobot City. Both sides were deceived and in the end were betrayed. In his bid to destroy all Transformers, Dr. Arkeville's cosmic rust bomb decimated the backbone of the Autobots and Decepticons forces, claiming the greatest of their fighters, including Optimus Prime and Megatron. Few escaped during the battle and among their numbers were Kup, Arcee, Springer, and a handful of others.

Yet even the evil genius could not have foreseen the consequences. His scheme resulted in the destruction of the world that he sought to rule. The disease that once only attacked the Transformers mutated, obliterating all life that contained iron in their blood. Within months of the defeat at Autobot City, the epidemic spread until the Earth became an empty wasteland and devoured the planets that surrounded it. So great was its berth that this sector of space was named the Great Cosmic Rust Expanse.

The sole survivors of that battle, the remaining Autobots and Decepticons continued their age long battle struggle at their home galaxy. And for that brief moment in the darkest hour, the Autobots had almost prevailed. Then hope died.

At the last stand at Nebulos against the forces of evil, Rodimus Prime was slain by Straxus and the light of the Matrix was lost forever, faded from the annals of time. The Decepticons claimed victory, but it was short lived. In a succession of betrayals, murders, and weak rulers, the tide of power shifted until factions splintered within factions and allegiance had no meaning.

In the end, the empire that Megatron envisioned fell apart, consumed by greed and corruption. There was no world of peace and justice. There was no mighty and powerful empire. Only division existed, and loyalty became limited to only colonies. Bitterness resided in the hearts of those who survived, which then transferred to their offspring. Disillusioned by the Great War, they resigned to picking up the fragments of their broken lives, turning away from the causes they once fought for.

In their constant warfare, Cybertron suffered, a casualty to its peoples' ignorance. Flames from bombshells had rippled across it surface, stripping away its healing cover. Mech fluid from the dead contaminated the Rust Sea so it became toxic. Generations of culture and history were reduced to cinders, and advances of technology and science were lost to prosperity. Caught in the depravity, Cybertron simply gave up. The damage had spread like a vile tumor until it ate away at its life-sustaining core. Only when it entered its violent convulsions did its inhabitants realized. By then it was too late. Their world was dying.

Many fled the impending apocalypse, turning to their starships for their salvation. By the thousands they left in a mass exodus, dispersing across the galaxy and finding their refuge across the stars. Those who made the journey mourn their loss. They would live among strange peoples, unable to claim a home of their own. Their children, called the Exiled, would grow up only hearing tales of a world that no longer existed.

Still many others had chosen to stay or had no choice otherwise. On borrowed time, they could only wait for the end. Yet they continued to live, even when Cybertron was dying. They gathered, rebuilding at the poles of the planet where it remained habitable, untouched by the radioactive matter that passed through the gradually thinning protective atmosphere. Despite their inevitable doom, they struggled to survive, as if waging war against time and all that the universe threw at them. For though their children, the Remnant as they were called, were afflicted with the same misery and hopelessness that gripped those of this age, they have not submitted to utter defeat against such adversity.

As time progressed and the memories of Cybertron began to fade and dimmer (kept alive only by the Elders), gaps between those of the Remnant and those of the Exiled grew great. No longer do they perceived the other as brethren, bond by the same heritage. Instead they looked to the other with suspicion, further instigated by the differences in dress, values, customs, and dialect each colony developed. Bias and prejudices reigned, and rivalries incurred. One of the most bitter of these rivalries included the tension between the Kavornum trade guards and the junkers of Iacon. The junkers resented the formers' efforts to curtail the illegal dumping and arrest the pirates whom they relied on for their livelihood and survival. The guards for their part despised the junkers for their lack of assistance in capturing the thieves, even more resentful when some merchants had forged partnerships with the pirates to smuggle goods from the spaceport.

Needless to say, as much as Quickstealth and Roadtorque were concerned, the Outsiders (as the Remnant called the Exiled) were nothing but a bad omen, a jinx on their way of life. Axle on his part grew tense, his mind lingering on his stored firearm. As far as the Harbinger captain knew, these two junkers were probably spoiling for a fight.

Only Sidesweep seemed to have not noticed. Nevertheless, he moved slowly so as not to alarm, keeping his hand away from himself and in plain sight to avoid suspicion. Despite his facial scars, he gave a warm smile to ensure an impression of good will. Of course the junkers were not deceived.

"May Primus bless you," he said using the standard Cybertronian greeting. "I'm Sidesweep, chief science officer from Carus Pax. My companion is Captain Axle of the H.M.S. Harbinger, currently stationed at Kavornum Spaceport."

The silver-white jet narrowed his violet optics but gave a curt nod. "I'm Quickstealth of the Junkers. This is Roadtorque," he said, gesturing to the uptight femme at his side. "What do you want of us?"

"I'm looking for the one called Kup. Is he in your company?"

"What'd you need him for?" blurted Roadtorque, misgiving etched on her features. She didn't trust this strange bot anymore than the Kavornum guard.

The white mech bowed his head. "I'm afraid I cannot disclose my business here. There are too many stray optics about."

This was true. The crowd that had gathered since the Outsiders came had grown considerably. Some stared at them inquisitively, others made no effort to conceal their hostility. Quickstealth knew that among them a Chop spy could be watching. With much reluctance, he agreed that they should confer inside the Shack.

-------------------------------

Despite her fellow junker's company, Roadtorque was especially not fond of the idea of being confined with the likes of their visitors. For all she knew, they could be the Crips pirates, who were infamous for their raids on the Iacon slum colony. Roadtorque personally witnessed their reckless rampage as they abducted many residents, including one of her closest friends. Those taken by the Crips were never seen again, likely to have been sold as slaves in the intergalactic market. At any rate, she was far from being assured that these mechs were friendly. Once inside, she took position behind the dozer.

Sidesweep began. "I suppose I should start with a more proper introduction of myself. Back during the Great War I had know Kup during my university days at Vector Province. I was a student then, too young to be accepted into the Autobot ranks. Nevertheless I met Kup just before he was shipped out to Autobot City on Earth, or formerly known so before it became part of the Great Cosmic Rust Expanse as you know it. He had been finding new recruits to enlist yet adamantly refused my registration.

"To say that he and I got along when we first met is a falsity." Sidesweep scoffed. "We couldn't find anything to agree on. He found my subject of study to be somewhat…radical and abstract for his tastes.

"At any rate he hated my work on the theories of space and time; said it was fanciful if not dangerous to be tampering with things beyond our comprehension. I blatantly disagreed. You see my research focuses on the study of the nature of time anomalies and wormholes. For years, even after the war I had found some stunning connections between the phenomena. And now I believe that not only is it possible to understand these anomalies but that we can create our own."

From behind the dozer, Roadtorque was already lost in the scientific jargon, but was eager to learn what it meant. "So you are saying we can just whip up a black hole or something, just like that?" She snapped her fingers.

The aged scientist nodded. "Exactly, except we want to create wormholes, not black holes mind you. Black holes are the proverbial dead end. Wormholes, however, act as teleportation pads. They link two places in space via a sub dimensional portal. Now are you familiar with the warp gate technology they used during the Great War?"

"Of course. It allows a user to teleport from one side of the galaxy to the other. Those at Autobot City had just finished a prototype of one before the Decepticons attacked."

"Correct Quickstealth. The reason I brought this up is because warp gates are artificially made wormholes. Both act on the same principles of connecting two locations by punching a tunnel into subspace. Now that we have the basics down, we can get into the more theoretical part," Sidesweep's sole optic glinted with excitement.

"As I said, it took me years to discover this, and quite by accident. In all the labs I worked at, the one at Carus Pax had provided me the necessary tools. Anyways, it began like this.

"As Axle can tell you my current project was intended to recreate the warp gate technology that had been lost since the war. Even with hundreds of assistants, it took many vorns of painstaking research of engineering notes, most of which are sadly in terrible condition from the fires that destroyed the Hub of Iacon. The worst of it was that few survived the transport from Cybertron to Carus Pax due to the pirates. We practically had to do guesswork to connect the remaining pieces of the puzzle. Under the funding of the Carus Pax officials, we labored, with the intent of creating spatial connections between the planet and its trade partners.

"We succeeded after much trial and error. I won't burden you with the testing results, though some had slightly…adverse effects on our first few test subjects," Sidesweep cleared his throat and quickly continued. "In any case we accomplished our goal…and then more.

"Then it happened. In one experiment, we sent a probe through, hoping it would appear at the Tyros Asteroid colony. Like the routine it entered through the prototype warp gate. Then it vanished for a full cycle. And just as we were about to give up on the experiment, the probe reappeared, revealing startling data.

"From the readings a full vorn had passed on its chronometer though it was confirmed that it had disappeared for only a cycle. Though the rest of my team dismissed this time discrepancy as a mere instrumental error, I was not ready to let the matter settle on such a simple explanation. So I did my own research, without the authorization of my team or the Carus Pax officials, repeating the experiment with the same frequency used by the gate (another error that was dismissed by the others). And again the same results happened."

"As intriguing as your story is doctor," Axle said. "You have neglected what Kup's part in this is or what it has to do with them." He nodded at the junkers before them as if finding that discussing such matters of erudite nature to such as these was offensive and futile.

The smelter picked up on the patronizing tone immediately and flashed the Kavornum guard a crude gesture. "Frag off, soldier boy. I don't see the doc askin' you who he can talk to."

Quickstealth jumped in before the argument escalated. "Axle has a point. Why are you telling us this? Carus Pax is not the type of colony that is willing to share any scientific and technological advances with the rest of the universe. Isn't this some kind of classified information?"

The other mech waved his hand casually. "Feh. I did my work for them, creating their precious warp gate. This extra bit of research is mine. And hell if I let them unrighteous bastards tell me what to do with it."

"But then what are you planning to do with it?"

At the sound of a new voice, all turned as Kup and Shadowhydra entered, looking quite frazzled as if the Skulls themselves had chased them. Kup's stern optics fell on Sidesweep.

"Should have known it was you," he growled. "Only you'd bring this much trouble."

"Quick," Shadow called. "The Chops are coming and they're armed."

"_What_?"

The sinking feeling in Axle's spark was right. He feared this even when they set foot on Cybertron. Kavornum guards weren't exactly welcomed by the local vigilantes, who perceived them as treading on their turf. "Slag, we gotta get back to my ship," he said retrieving his laser rifle from its holster.

Reaching up, Shadowhydra activated the reinforced bolts on the steel doors. "Too late for that, they're coming at us from all sides."

"They just want them right?" Roadtorque nodded at Axle and Sidesweep. "Can't we just offer them up?"

Even as they prepared for battle, Quickstealth was far from being eager to face it. He swore, angered at how dire the situation had become, where there was no turning back. Not long ago, there had been a rebellion by a group of dissatisfied radical Junkers and pirates. The revolt was put down mercilessly, the heads of the leaders impaled and displayed in the Market to warn future traitors.

By the mere presence of their guests they were condemned. For the moment they met the foreigners, the spies' tongues waggled, arousing suspicion and animosity against them. No longer were they safe. No longer could they live their lives peacefully…not on Cybertron at least.

Forced in a battle beyond his control, Quickstealth entered the fray, helping the others block the doorways with the heaviest furniture they had. Yet he could feel the same desperation in the others. What were their makeshift defenses against the deadly wrath of the Chops? Were they raising walls to keep the enemy out or were they imprisoning themselves in?

"Damn, my boss is going to so kill me for missing the next shift," Roadtorque grumbled.

Axle scoffed as he gripped his laser rifle tightly. "We have more pressing concerns to worry about, lady."

Shouts and footfalls echoed outside, growing in intensity. Others sounded from the back. A heavy pounding reverberated the door, quickening the occupants' spark pulses. More shouting. Then silence. Shadow murmured a prayer to Primus.

Then it began. The double doors at the front shook, rocking on their hinges as the pounding erupted into full thunder as the metal slowly became warped from the battering assault from the other side.

"Frag, they're busting their way through." Sidesweep reached into his sub space pocket and withdrew a grenade-like device. He jerked the ring and hurled it. A brief flash of white light appeared and subdued, revealing a wall of ice coating the double doors. "That ought to buy us some nano-klicks. Now what?"

"Heh," Kup said. "I hadn't been in this much excitement for ages. Reminds me of the time…"

"Kup! Please." Shadowhydra exclaimed anxiously. It just wasn't the moment for another one of the Elder's long-winded tales.

Kup shrugged. "Maybe later then. What I learned from that battle was to make the most of your environment."

"And haven't we?" Roadtorque asked. They had practically exhausted all their options.

"Not exactly." Axle replied, allowing his optics to train on two vehicles at a far corner. "We have yet to try everything."

Quickstealth smirked. A devil-may-care attitude had seized him since he realized the inevitability of their fate. "Why the hell not? We only live once."

------------------------------

Outside the dilapidated shop, they came, descending like carrion birds. Their armor dark, body forms sleek and spindly, reflected the drastic modifications they underwent to become efficient and deadly. The Chop members bore no semblance to the bulky, heavier build they once shared with their fellow Remnant. They are creations of their master Gear Scythe, a being that put to full use the chop shops that were Megatron's legacy to Cybertron. From these Forges he crafted each of his minions using the best of the refuse from the landfill, enhancing their abilities through augmentations. The Chops as true to their name were altered, each transformed into a perfect weapon.

All these were reasons that assured Greaseslide of their superiority. They were the most ruthless, most barbaric of all Cybertronian gangs. Although they had many rivals, few could dare defy them and live. A handful of Junkers inside a locked shop was short work.

Turning, his gaze pierced at the obstruction in their way. The cybernetic implant that had replaced his left optic swiveled, scanning the doors with a crimson laser beam, which gave him full structural integrity readout. His massive jaws gaped in a monstrous serrated grin. Stretching out his skeletal hands, they transformed into a pair of lethal buzz saws, whirling and shrieking.

"Spare the scientist, but no one else," he growled. "Kill the guard. Kill the traitors. Kill…them…ALL." A series of guttural snarls and hoarse laughter accompanied this. Greaseslide led the assault, turning his blades upon the offending structure, carving deep welts on its surface.

_'Come to us, dear scholar. You've got away so far. Oh yes, you were lucky. But time is up. Give us the secret of Carus Pax. What right have you to hoard such knowledge? Make us stronger; expand our empire beyond the confines of this miserable planet. Perhaps we'll even spare your life in the end.'_

The Chops let loose their fury, hemming in from all sides. Rip. Tear. Shred. They could taste the fear beating in the sparks of their victims. It drove them, turning their madness into pure frenzy. Kill. Kill.

A chorus of yowls rose as the first breach was made, the building slowly yielding to their might. Greaseslide reached his bony hand inside, groping for the release mechanism to part the doors and let loose the flood. Then it started.

A heavy rumbling shook the ground, fast approaching so that few had got out of the wake before the great steel doors came crashing down, crushing any hapless Chop beneath its bulk.

Hissing, Greaseslide escaped just as the dozer emerged, rumbling into the distance at full speed with a hover cycle before it. Its silvery pistons labored to gain momentum. Their prey was eluding them.

At this Greaseslide and his men yowled in rage. Their body plates shifted and they tore after their quarry in their cycle mode.

_'You can run fast, oh you can try. But you can't run forever.'_


	7. Chapter 7: Keeping the Lead

To whom it may concern:

Much thanks for all my faithful readers. I'm so delighted that you're enjoying this little fanfic of mine. It gives me hope that regardless as this story is a OC/AU type, that there are those who don't condemn it for this. Thank you for being open minded. :)

I especially want to give grateful shoutout to Catbite, who has been there since the beginning of my little endeavor. Of course I don't want to leave out anyone who has taken their precious time to read my fanfic. Without you, this story wouldn't be possible. It is my desire to weave this tale to entertain you and that's what has carried me on to continue this fic even when it had started as a one-shot to begin with. Who knew that it could evolved from there to this!

Sadly, I may not update as frequently as I do for the next five months. With my residency in teaching World Geography, I'm pretty tied up. But I will strive to finish this story, which means a lot to me than my other old fandom fics. This one is more personal since many of the OC characters are the incarnate fragments of my personality. I write what I know, so if these OCs become too Mary Sue-ish I would greatly appreciate any feedback and creative criticism to fix this, or if the canon characters become too out-of-character.

Once again, thank you. Read on, my friends. ;)

Sincerely,

Dismal-Spectre

------------------------------------------

Aftermath: The Age of Desolation

Chapter 7: Keeping the Lead

Ask any war veteran and they would tell you the same thing. Everything they did was done out of necessity. They would embellish the tale, saying how they took on an entire platoon single handedly. Nevertheless, it revolved around the same theme. In the midst of hell, they lived because of the courageous leadership of their commanders or that they just knew what to do at the time.

Of course what they spoke of was what a seasoned solder experienced. They conveniently forget to mention the fear, the penetrating numbing fear that takes hold of one in their first taste of combat. They never mention how your mind shuts down and your body seemed to run on its own, as if a secondary programming kicked in. Some would not remember what happened after regaining their senses, staring back with amazement at how they managed to survive the impossible. Nor would they tell of the accounts of the gory nightmares that would haunt even beyond when the fighting was long over. Then the blame and the guilt that followed when one is left wondering why they were spared while their comrades perished.

It wasn't until you found yourself in a life-threatening situation that you would know what kind of person you are. Some become rooted in place, transfixed and petrified. Others break down or flee from the danger. Then there are the few who stand their ground, refusing to let their fear dominate them. They take it, transform it that energy to fuel their inner strength to take the challenge face on. It was moments like this that make or break a person.

Despite all the training he had done with Kup, and all the brawls he engaged in to protect his salvaged goods from thieves, Quickstealth was not prepared. Always he faced his opponents as his mentor taught him, with calm and focus, studying their movements and looking for weaknesses. But none of the lessons did him any good now, not when going up against a multitude of ravenous Chops.

Tearing down the ruined streets of Iacon at break neck speed, it took all effort to keep ahead of the great dark tide that threatened to engulf them. Like the incoming sea they came, merciless and unrelenting. Creeping as one black serpent, the Chops revving engines blended into one shrill drone of a raging swarm. From their spinning side turrets bolts of hot-white energy lashed out, coming down thick as rain upon their quarry.

Firing round after round of laser gunshot, Axle never let up his assault. Yet for every one Chop he plucked off another took its place, the gap closing among the tight ranks. "Primus, they're like retro rats," he growled. "They keep coming."

On the other passenger seat of the hovercraft, Sidesweep snorted even as he shot out the tire from under one Chop. "I warned you earlier, kid, not to get involved. But you had to insist…"

"Oh, shut up."

Quickstealth grimaced as a stray shot nearly punctured his left temple. Dust kicked up by the high wind battered against his optics, distorting his vision. Before them, the roads of Iacon stretched. But vorns of disuse and neglect had taken its tool. Scattered about were debris, boulders, and broken machinery and junk. Deep yawning cracks and potholes marred its surface. If there was any sign that the obstacles impeded the Chops, it did not show. They seemed to scale and glide effortless over them, using the giant slabs of broken concrete as ramps to gain distance.

"Just hang on," Quickstealth yelled. "I'm going to try to shake them off!"

Yet no sooner than the words were spoken then a high feminine scream rang out. Quickstealth turned his head sharply to find what he dreaded. Though the dozer was efficient in destroying whatever lie in its wake, not all obstructions were destructible. Large and cumbersome, even with the skilled driving of Roadtorque behind the wheel, the bulky machinery was not as agile as the hovercraft at handling the turns. Precious nano-klicks were wasted as it negotiated each bend, often threatening to topple over. Slowed, the Chops caught up to the dozer, latching themselves unto its sides as they clawed at the occupants aboard.

Sidesweep raised his arm mounted ion blaster only to have the Harbinger captain knock it aside. Axle shook his head. "Too risky. You need a clear shot."

Gritting his teeth, Quickstealth pulled a hard right, aiming for the dozer. "Then allow me to give you one," he growled.

Aboard the dozer, Kup drove the bottom end of his musket rifle to the jaw of a Chop. A sick, crunching sound followed, and with a strangled cry, the brute toppled off. Its gangly body fell, crushed beneath the dozer's grinding treads.

"Hell, this is more like it," the old timer whooped. "I haven't seen this much action in years."

But while Kup reveled in the moment, Shadowhydra was horrified by it. Having never been exposed to the harsh reality outside of the Market where their home was, she never knew of what Quickstealth faced day to day as he struggled to earn their living. She never knew the violence of the streets, the rivalry gang fights, the brothel/bar brawls, and the fisticuffs between Junkers as they fought over the limited resources of the landfill. In a way, she knew that a part of what her brother spoke was true, that she had been sheltered, ignorant of cruel world that existed outside of the Shack. For as thrilling and exciting it was to imagine and relive the heroic and glorious battles of the Great War, it was quite a different matter when you were forced with danger yourself.

Nevertheless, her concern for Kup and Roadtorque was what drew her from her shocked trance, and she strove to fight back as best as she could, limited as her skills were. If only she paid more attention during the oilcan shooting lessons her mentor gave her and not dismiss them as unnecessary and barbaric. For a while she was able to bring down a small number of the enemy with her laser rifle. However, when a Chop snagged her ankle, she panicked, never having been taught close combat fighting. She let out a distressed yell, but a cold metallic hand quickly muffled it.

Gripping her wrists and pinning them down, the fiend overpowered her, pulling its leering face close to hers. Hot, sulfuric breathe poured from its maws, caressing her check. Its thin body trembled with excitement as it pressed against her frame.

"My, what beautiful optics you have," it crooned, with not a trance of warmth in it, as if its words could freeze the air. A slender finger stroked her chin, sending shivers through her circuits. It lunged forward, aiming for her neck, when suddenly it pulled back. Hissing and writhing, it struggled as Kup's restraining arm hooked fast about its throat.

"Stay away from her, you bastard," Kup pressed the barrel of his rifle at the mid of its back, causing it to cease its efforts. Then the dozer lurched, off throwing Kup's balance. He let out a yelp of surprise before disappearing from sight.

_**"KUP!!"** _Shadowhydra shrieked.

Startled by the sudden release, the Chop let its guard down ever so slightly. Taking the chance, she drew up and rammed her feet into its chest. Back arched and arms flailing, it snarled before vanishing off the side, rolling and bumping behind the dozer before being swallowed up by the black horde.

Just as grief for Kup's loss was about to overtake her, Shadowhydra heard Roadtorque calling over the roaring of the engine. "Whaddya doing standing there? Kup's stuck on the side!"

The smelter's voice snapped her out of it and she bent over, peering down as bided to. Her spark leapt with joy as she caught sight of her dear mentor's form, hanging upside down and waving his arms madly. With his leg caught, only the handrail stood between Kup and his doom.

"What are waiting for?" Kup bellowed. He gritted his teeth as his nose came inches of the fast moving treads. "Pull me up already!"

She slinked forward, watching her footing. Yet as she got a hold of his thigh, a shadow loomed behind her, armed raised to strike.

A shot cracked the air. Turning she saw the Chop behind her fell backward, with a gapping hole glaring through its forehead. Its lifeless corpse struck the ground and was soon covered by the dust.

Looking up, she smiled as she saw her brother returned it with his usual smirk, one hand on the control stick and the other wielding a smoking Twindicer pistol.

Kup scoffed. "Show off. Now let me up!"

Righted atop the dozer, he peered over Roadtorque's shoulder. "Can't this thing go any faster? We just repaired it."

The smelter scowled and shot back, "The cylinder may be new, but the dozer is as old as the Rust Sea. If you wanna go faster, then git out and push."

While this bantering went on, Quickstealth was becoming more anxious as he noticed Sidesweep had used the last of his ammo with Axle not far behind. Covering for the others had severely depleted what little firepower they had. It was time for a new tactic.

Kup must have thought the same. His cool turquoise optics strained as if searching for something faint on the horizon. Then he cried out. "Figured we were in the area. Listen both of you," he shouted at Roadtorque and Quickstealth. "I say we give these guys a helluva ride. Head for the subway systems. We'll lose them there."

While Quickstealth had his doubts of whether the plan worked, he couldn't think of anything better. Unless they shake their pursuers off they'll keep going till they were out of fuel or they were captured. Both options did not look appealing. Still, confined in a tight subterranean tunnel did not seem any worse. Here's hoping Kup knew what he was doing.

As if sensing that their prey was tiring, the Chops howled in ecstasy, in a hellish cacophony. Death was drawing near. Their jaws gnashed hungrily, their claws eager to throttle and slash.

_'Why delay the inevitable, dear ones? Oh you've kept ahead of us so far, but the result is always the same. Come to us. We've waited so long for this.'_

_-----------------------_

Until the next chapter, dear readers... Dismal-Spectre signing out.

_Till all are one!_


	8. Chapter 8: From One Danger

**Aftermath: Age of Desolation**

Chapter 8: From One Danger to Another

There was a saying that what may seem like a good idea at the time was in fact the dumbest thing you do. For Kup, it was the story of his life. In this case, taking the subway systems with a raging horde of irate Chops behind you was yet another example of this.

Only when they entered the pitch black caverns of the neglected tunnels did Kup realized his error. Confined, forced to move in one direction, they had no idea where they were headed let alone whether the tracks would end suddenly.

But the worst of it was the feeling of being cornered. The walls seemed to surround them on all sides. The roaring of engines, amplified by the close space, resonated through the tunnel, adding to the illusion that the Chops were closer to them than before. Yet looking back the torrent had become a trickle. Bottlenecked, the Chops could only pursue them two abreast.

Of course as younglings were, Kup's junior peers were not grateful of his plan.

"What now?" Sidesweep called, flinching as a bolt of white fire grazed pass. "You said we'd lose them down here. Where are the other tunnels?" He had ran out of gun charges.

Kup bit his lip. "It seems…It seems we're in a service track of some sort. The next station is probably for at least a dozen megamiles away." He braced for the fire.

It came in the wrath of Roadtorque. Her gold optics flared as she fixed him a withering look. "Are you crazy? You've lead us into a death trap. This isn't a plan, this is suicide! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," he offered weakly.

The situation had just become dire. Unless they corked the flow behind them, the Chops would chase them relentlessly until they wore down or stopped by a dead end. Cursing, Sidesweep found that his subspace pockets were empty. He had used the last of his liquid nitrogen grenades.

"Hey kid, you carrying anything explosives?"

Axle grunted as he plucked off another Chop, careful to use his shots sparingly. "No, I'm all out."

"I have one," Quickstealth replied, still attentive to his driving. The tracks seemed to extend forever with no bend. "But I wouldn't use…"

"Good enough." Despite the jet's protests, Sidesweep reached into Quickstealth's side satchel. Pulling the ring he threw the hissing orb at the Chops.

The world suddenly turned inside out. In a confined space, the wave of fire and intense heat from the explosion grew, expanding outward like the breaking surf. Its violent aftershock hurled Kup and the others from their vehicles. Buried beneath the falling debris they barely escaped the fate of the Chops.

Screams were cut short as the flames consumed those who were not blown into shrapnel, liquefying and peeling the metal sheath from their frames. The thunder shook the entire tunnel, shattering the beams and casting down boulders of broken stone, lingering long after all became still. For what seemed like eternity, all was cast in darkness.

A long while passed before Quickstealth stirred. An insistent throbbing hammered at the based of his skull. As his optics came on, yellow warnings flashed in the corners of his vision, indicating the damage his systems had taken. Only one of his headlights came on, the other had been ruined by the blast. The weak beam filtered through the dust-choked air, falling upon the hellish scene before him.

Like a grotesque junkyard, mounds of twisted charred metal lay before him. Severed limbs were strewn across the ground, the mech fluid from them burned away in the inferno. Looking behind, he noted the rock that had pinned him under had become smooth and slick, polished by the searing flames.

It took a moment before he realized what it all meant. His thoughts came sluggishly due to the blow to his cranium. Only until he rebooted his systems did his processor functioned clearly.

"S-Shadow!" he yelled, dodging exposed wiring that strung down from the ceiling from ruined underground lights. By its erratic crackling of sparks, he could make out a familiar hand protruding from a pile of rubble. He stumbled over, his footsteps crunching on the fragments of stone and metal shards.

Much digging revealed a much-disheveled Axle. Coated in dirt and bearing many gashes across his chassis, Quickstealth wondered if he looked any better. Still he was thankful to have another functioning hand to help.

"That insane Unicronian pitslag," Axle growled. "What was he thinking setting that thing off in place like this?"

"I don't know. Just help me find the others."

Bow-backed, hunkering like beasts, they scoured the area with only their body lights providing scant illumination. Excavated, their companions rose like pale wraiths from the ruins. Much to their relief, none sustain serious injuries, save for Sidesweep, whose left leg malfunctioned when a large shard had embedded itself in the main circuit that operated it. Limping, he was supported by leaning on Kup's shoulder.

"Well you did promise a 'helluva ride,'" Sidesweep smirked as Kup glared at him. But perhaps the most aggravated was Roadtorque, who looked ready to tear the Carus Pax scientist to shreds.

"Damnation, how can someone so smart be so stupid," she snapped.

Yet as risky and suicidal as the move was, it was effective (if a bit too much). The passage behind them had collapsed, blocked by steel beams and debris. The Chops that had been on them were now obstructed from following them further, which only meant one thing. They were trapped within.

Despite his wound, Kup immediately took charge. "The way I figured it, they're probably waiting above ground for us to resurface."

"But that limits all of our options," Shadowhydra spoke up. "They'll be watching every train stop. We need to get out of here fast, at someplace where they'd least expect it."

"Someplace where we don't have to fight to the teeth at," Axle nodded. His laser rifle clicked, useless without a charge.

The party's spirit sank at the dismal chances of survival. However, one thing was clear. They had to keep moving lest they were found. Injured, lost, and practically unarmed they trudged on.

It seemed that if the Chops didn't finish them off the subway would. Not one sign remained, likely taken down by vandals. Perhaps they too sought refuge in these tunnels, only to die somewhere in the depths of Cybertron.

Shadowhydra shivered at this thought wondering if they too would share their fate. She shook her head, chiding herself for the grim thoughts. There was no proof of anything of the nature that anyone perished from these imagined causes.

Her puzzled look caught her brother's attention. "You noticed it too, huh?" he asked flashing a beam unto the faint outline on the wall where a sign once hung. There was no dust where it once was. "Some of these were taken down recently."

"The Chops probably did it so we could lose our way down here," Sidesweep commented as he shifted his balance on Kup's shoulder.

Kup's optic ridges furrowed. "I don't reckon so. I've heard rumors that…"

"Rumors? What rumors?"

Kup and Quickstealth exchanged dark glances. "It's been said that there's been a few members of the Underground Resistance skulking these parts, hiding from the wrath of the Chops until they are ready to strike again. For all we know we may be trespassing."

Quickstealth nodded, remembering that dark time that happened not long ago. Protesting the limit placed on the export of their goods to Kavornum, a hundred Junkers marched on at the Hyros Square, emboldened by the financial backing by pirates who shared in the profit making. Wielding their hammers and chanting, it had been a peaceful demonstration until someone set off a bomb. Although it was never determined who was responsible for it, the effect was still the same. Both sides opened fired. When the smoke cleared, only three Chops were wounded, 20 Junkers were found dead.

The 'massacre,' as the protestors' sympathizers called it, only served to further upset relations between the factions. Quickstealth recalled the barking of gunfire not far from the Shack and his fear of how close to home it sounded. Pounding on neighboring salvagers' shops could be heard in the middle of the night, followed the shouts of those arrested under suspicion of association with the Resistance.

Whereas Kup praised the participants' righteousness and condemned the Chop's lust of power and arrogance, Quickstealth scorned the whole affair. It was only natural that trouble would come for those who asked for it. As expected the Chops tightened their hold on the trade regulations and inspections became frequent. All this because of the actions of a few malcontents not satisfied with their usual paychecks. Greed not the defense of rights was the source of the evil.

But the worst of it was not Kup's support of the violence, but Shadowhydra's excitement over it all. She felt that the times were changing, that the colony was on the brink of a new age. So passionate were her words that Quickstealth feared where it would lead. He confronted her, forcing her to promise him not to become affiliated in any way to the Resistance, who were now seen as traitors by the Chops, a crime punishable by death.

To hear that they were now in possible rebel territory filled him with dread. There were rumors that they impressed children into spying on the Chops. Who knew what they would do if they caught them.

Apparently Kup thought the same. For all the spirited words he used to cheer on the rebel cause, he was not willing to let his young charges become forcefully involved. He hastened his steps, causing Sidesweep struggling to keep up. "We must hurry," he said. "We're not out of the glitched server yet."

"So let me get this straight," Axle said as he kept with the pace. "Cybertron is in the middle of a civil war, I presume?"

"Primus forbid," Quickstealth retorted. "A few rabble rousers causing trouble does not make it a war."

At this Roadtorque stopped suddenly. She glared at the jet with indignation. "Rabble rousers? Is that how you see us? I'll have you know that they're fightin' for your rights too. Why else would the Chops decide to drop the Gear Tax? It's thanks to the Resistance that you don't have to pay it. You know it really pisses me off that lukewarm folks like you benefit from our struggle."

Taken back, Quickstealth started. "Wait a nano-klick. Us? Our? You're one of them aren't you?" He stiffened as if struck.

"And hell if I am?" She sniffed. "The way I see it you're one of us now. The Chops don't see you as one of their pawns anymore it seems."

Damn her. The smelter was right. Without a choice, he was now one of the public offenders all because of the bad company he was associated with; first being the two Outsiders and now with a newly discovered Resistance member in their midst. If anything Quickstealth would say that he had a terrible streak of luck. Nothing seemed to faze him anymore, except the fact that Kup and Shadowhydra were dragged into this as well. And that in itself was the greater anguish, more so than his own safety.

"Well if you're part of the Resistance," Shadowhydra said. "Wouldn't you know where we are and how we can avoid running into more Chops?"

Roadtorque scoffed. "Of course, girlie." Everyone stared as she glanced about as if looking for a sign that only she could perceive. Reaching out she ran her hand at along the wall close to the floor. Her roaming fingers stopped. "Thought so."

"This is a marker that tell me how close am I to the Resistance base."

"Swell," Axle said. "So its some kind of code you use then?"

Dusting her hands she stood. "Yeah. But," she said with a mischievous glint in her optics. "I'm afraid I can't just let all ya meet the big guy himself without taking a few precautions, seeing as you're not part of the gang and all. So…" She whipped out a handful of greasy oilcloths from her subspace pocket. "Everybody?"

The Harbinger captain blinked. "You've got to be joking."

"Nope. The Resistance don't know if it can trust ya, so when in Iacon…"

Glancing over her shoulder as her brother readied her blindfold, Shadow gave him an apologetic look. "Honestly, I didn't know she was one of them."

Quickstealth sigh. "It's all right. You kept your promise. As long as she didn't tell you to do something illegal…"

"Well there was that one time we snuck into the Iacon Library and made off with some data disks, but there wasn't any Chops about, so don't worry," she added quickly.

"That's _their _domain, you know that."

"True, but I know also that it's not right to deny anyone knowledge if they seek it, and Roadtorque and I are those people."

Even Sidesweep was forced to wear a blind much to his displeasure. Though everyone held hands and were guided single file by Roadtorque, the scientist had the most difficulty. At times his weakened leg gave out and he almost fell into a cursing Kup, who was quickly growing weary of being used as a prop.

For a while it seemed that they followed the path of the tracks. But suddenly they shifted direction, indicating that they must have come to a fork where the railways branched off. The echoes of their footsteps on hard concrete was the only sound heard. Then they came to a halt. A strange grating noise came as if Roadtorque had removed a large metal panel.

"Now we're going down a ladder, so watch your footing," Roadtorque said. A groan came from Sidesweep and Kup.

One by one they groped for every rung. There was much grumbling and swearing, as the person above would step on the hand of the hand of the one below them. But the greatest fuss came as Kup and Sidesweep began to negotiate the climb.

"I'm going down first," Kup said. "That way I can catch you if you fall."

"Good idea, except how the hell am I going to find my footing with this damn leg of mine?"

In the end, Kup found himself with a two-ton mech hanging on his back, arms straddled about his neck. "I'm getting too old for this," Kup grunted. "And stop your giggling, 'torque, unless you want to finish your reading lessons by yourself."

As they descended, the musk of grease and stagnant oil reached their olfactory receptors. Uncertainty filled them as they set foot on the ground, which had before been hard and smooth now was uneven and gravel laden. The drop in temperature was noticeable.

"Where are we?" Axle inquired, voicing the same question going through their minds.

"The last place you would want to be," came the enigmatic reply.

At this, a feeling of apprehension seized Quickstealth. So the rebels were armed and suspicious. They had escaped from one danger only to run into another. He gripped Shadowhydra's hand tightly, wishing he could take out his Twindicer.

They had gone but a few paces when they stopped again. "Everyone, throw your weapons on the ground and raise your hands," Roadtorque ordered, a hint of urgency in her voice. They did as they were told, Quickstealth and Axle only reluctantly.

Shouts came as well as the clanging of footsteps. Suddenly they found themselves pressed against the wall, arms restrained.

"Don't resist," a strange mech's voice toned in Shadowhydra's audio receptor. She flinched slightly as she felt his large hands begin to slide over her body, much to her discomfort.

Only until the invisible figures were satisfied with their search were their blindfolds removed. As their optics readjusted to the shift in lighting, the party could make out the figures standing before them, weapons drawn and aimed. Roadtorque conversed with one gray mech, who kept shaking his head. She hissed in impatience and so he sighed in resignation.

"Very well," he retorted, furrowing his optic ridges. "Your friends are under your charge, however, they must escorted by an armed force. Just in case." He shot a venomous glare at the Harbinger captain.

"It seems I'm very popular today," Axle said as they proceeded down the darkened corridor with the militia in tow.

"On the bright side, at least they're not throwing you into their prison as they're fond of doing to Kavornum guards," Quickstealth replied.

It became very evident of where they were after they turned the corner. Carved in the green marble walls were niches, bearing grim contents. Inside them were empty shells of the fallen, ashen-hued and covered in dust. Black gazes leered at them as if angered by the intrusion. The musky odor became overpowering, coming from the fluid seeping from the battle-inflicted or fatal injuries. Some were missing parts, or like one corpse, was almost completely decapitated. A collective shudder ran through the group.

They had descended into the labyrinth of the Catacombs.


	9. Chapter 9: The Interrogator

Chapter 8: The Interrogator

The wrath of nightfall descended and the once bright and vibrant Market succumbed to its dark clutches. Empty and devoid of life, all was deathly still save the trash skittering through the back alleys. Shop windows boarded up added to the grim visage of an abandoned town. Gone were the haggling and banter of merchants and buyers.

Junkers huddled inside these battered shanties. Not a word passed between them for fear of the invisible audios. In silence they were protected. Fingers tensed above triggers. Every mech, femme, and fledgling remained in vigil, crouching in the semi-darkness of the room. They waited, dreading the pronounced thundering of droning motors or the barking of rifle fire.

Since the Hyros Square massacre, no one was above the suspicion. Occupation records, scavenging permits, screenings, and confiscation of goods were all vigorously enforced. Trespassers were dealt with by beatings, imprisonment, torture, and murder. But the cruelest policy was that of the Inquisition, the search and arrests of suspected traitors without sound evidence. Screams came with nightfall as neighbors were dragged forcefully away. Guilty and innocent alike were taken, and never to be seen again. Those that did returned not as they were before; their broken bodies mutilated and deposited in the landfill or afloat in the Rust Sea waters.

That's what happened, they believed, to Kup and his young charges. Warned time and time again, the old war veteran defied the Chops by educating the children of Iacon. His dedication to keeping alive their history, their heritage had inevitably drawn the wrath of Greaseslide. The Shack, torn and mangled, was avoided by passersby as if touched by the rust plague. They dared not to draw attention to themselves even as they paid their respects in silence.

Yet even as they shook their heads in disbelief at the cruel scene, many more hid their trepidation and anger. The sheer injustice of it all roiled them. The senseless slaying and treatment of innocents in the search for the guilty added to the frustration. Those who had been neutral realized their misjudgment and others who blamed the Resistance for the punishments inflicted by the Chops now saw the horrors of the Order they lived under. As if woken from a stupor, they were suddenly awake, aware that what may happen to a few, may happen to themselves.

For in their paranoia of losing control Greaseslide and the Chops had unintentionally roused the animosity of their subjects. In their attempt to suppress the rebellion they had added fuel to the cause, earning sympathizers for their enemies. For in the rebels struggle, the people saw hope and, above all, change.

Sheltered by the shades within a darkened alleyway, a motley gray mech smiled at the thought of these things. Yes, change was coming. And if it took a violent uprising to bring it about then so be it. The people of Iacon were tired of waiting, cowering in fear and hopelessness. Anger, bitterness, resentment, hatred festered beneath, humiliation accumulated through out many vorns.

The Resistance numbers grew daily, aided by citizens who did not fight openly but provided the rebels nonetheless with supplies and information. Everywhere there were signs of hidden contention and defiance. Unexplained destruction of Chop tribute barges, donations of supplies and arms to designated Resistance arsenals, forged documentation, purposely ruin goods that were intended to for taxes, contrabands smuggled in by pirates, unaccounted inventories of salvaged junk from the landfill. Anything the Junkers of Iacon could get by without getting caught was done.

The wind tugged at Rivet's tattered cloak and he pulled its folds closer to himself. Keeping to the shadows he stood, watching faithfully as he fixed his gaze upon the Forum of bygone Iacon. His face hardened with contempt at the thought of the Chops dwelling among the ruins of former seat of freedom and wisdom. In a way it was a disgusting irony, as if the presence of those fiends corrupted those revered grounds, reconstructing it in their own image.

High sweeping walls accented with turret guns and battlements dominated the landscape. Foreboding dark towers stood as hunkering sentinels looming over the denizens below. Dozens of slab-gray barracks huddled inside the enclosure, housing up to hundreds of the mechanical demons, ready to release their lethal cargo at a moments notice.

It was against such odds the Resistance faced, but fight they must. Our time will come, Rivet thought with assurance. The battle will be fierce and soon they will no longer have any need to confine it to the shadows.

The old wound at his forearm burned into his metallic flesh served as a reminder of his near brush with the enemy. Yet it hardened his resolve. Time and time again he fled with only his life and little else. When danger appeared he simply moved on, with regret that he had to take his business elsewhere. Whatever stores the Chops seized were merely a few of the dozens he owned all across Iacon and so was no great loss at all. A good scavenger knew better than to have just one hidden cache, after all. He evaded capture, seeking refuge in the Catacombs among his Resistance brethren.

From the rooftop he descended, scaling the walls nimbly. He ducked instinctively behind a dumpster at the sound of a revving motor. Not a klick later the faded bronze dome of a patrol drone's head protruded into the alley, its optic swiveled on the lone stalk on its forehead. Issuing a few whirls and clicks, it bobbed away and continued its round. Until the surveillance bot hovered away from sight did Rivet stirred.

He glanced at his wrist chronometer. He was a megaklick early. How he hated the waiting what with all the stray optics roaming about. But he hated the fact that the other party may not show up at all. The appearance of the Harbinger jeopardized the set rendezvous. Would Razor really risk bringing his crew so close to a formidable enemy?

Yet no sooner than he thought this then Rivet's internal comm link came to life. Garbled as it was with the static there was no mistaking the casual voice filtering through. "This is the Star, come in Circuit. Sorry for the delay, but we had unwelcomed company. No worries, we got it covered."

Rivet smirked. "Yes, of course. After all, the Harbinger misplaced their captain I believe."

A started snort came from the other side. "But how could you possibly know that?"

The scavenger laughed. "My friend, we've succeeded where you pirates failed. Old "Caliber" Axle is enjoying our hospitality so to speak."

"I don't believe it. The bane of our existence, the terror of Kavornum, is in your grips?" A low whistle came from Razor. "How'd you do it?"

Just as Rivet was about to respond, a low shrill squeal issued on the frequency. "Oh, slag. The Chop's hacking the channel. Meet me at the usual spot. I'll explain everything. Circuit out."

------------------------------------------

Cautious of the Chops' interference, the Nova Star never landed on Cybertron. The closest it dared to venture was in planet-side orbit. A small craft, undetected by Chop radars, would sneak in one pirate unnoticed.

Far on the edge-most part of the northwest landfill, Rivet met his Outsider counterpart. Stepping from the battered shuttle, a broad-shouldered Cerulean blue mech emerged; his green optics glinted with mischief, contradicting his stern thick-set jaw on his face. As Rivet fought to keep in gait with the wide striding pirate, the two conversed in hurried voices. Silent and fleeting as shadows they vanished into the sewer systems below.

"So you have Axle, eh? Rumor has it he's traveling with a Carus Paxian scientist who goes by the name Sidesweep." Razor eyed his shorter companion. "Don't tell me you've got a hold of him too?"

"Of course," Rivet said simply.

An uneasy look crossed the other's features. "Then you and all of Iacon may be in grave danger," Razor replied. "News from the intergalactic underground says there's a mighty hefty bounty placed on that scientist's head. Not that I'm tempting anyways," he said quickly. "I never trust Carus Paxians anyways. Always double-crossing and lying."

An uneasy tightening squeezed at Rivet's spark. "Why? What has Sidesweep done?"

"Whatever it is, it's enough to warrant an all out mech-hunt. Neutral space is filled with Carus Paxian warships seizing and searching every craft they get their hands on." Razor's jaw tightened. "The bastards damn near punctured the Nova Star's hull with one of their anti-matter blast cannons."

The scavenger gulped. Every one knew that Carus Pax usually kept to itself, believing that all other peoples were inferior. Possessing the most advanced technology and firepower their claim of being the most sophisticated civilization since the Great War was not without grounds. Proud and haughty, the Carus Paxians hoarded all the wealth, leaving crumbs to their poorer and ignorant counterparts to fight over. Like giants they dominated the universe, yet never extended their powers to control the insects beneath them, whom they regarded as barely sentient beings not worthy of their rule. Only Kavornum had a chance of rivaling their might, through the use of gleaned Carus Paxian technology, but even the Brethren were not so eager to pick a fight.

Images Carus Pax war birds descending upon Cybertron in their search for their quarry was enough to send static through Rivet's circuits. The planet may have survived the turbulence of a foreign invasion, a civil war, and environmental collapse, but it could only stand so much. One more blow could very well spell the end.

"Have you questioned the scientist? We need to find out what he knows that would deserve such attention."

"Only what he told us during t he interrogation," the stouter mech replied. "That he was working on warp gate technology. Axle confirms it's true."

Razor snorted. "The fact that Axle is involved is disturbing. What's his reason for traveling with Sidesweep?"

Rivet's optic brow furrowed. "He claims he was escorting the scientist to his destination and seeking out Kup of Iacon as part of his services as an informant."

"Aye, informant indeed. He may very well be a snitch to the big boys at Kavornum," the pirate captain noted dolefully. "If that's the case, we should be ready to assume the Brethren trying to steal Sidesweep for themselves. How much they know about the knowledge that scholar has, we can only guess. Still, the idea of those scoundrels getting their grimy servos on such technology grates my cylinders."

A war within a war, Rivet thought woefully. It was not enough that Iacon was on the verge of a civil uprising without having a cosmic scale conflict bearing down. Their only hope was to discover the knowledge Sidesweep carried. Surely whatever it was was enough to rattle the Paladins of Carus Pax and can be used for their advantage.

"I would feel assured if I questioned our guests myself," continued Razor. "And if needed, I'm willing to take Sidesweep aboard my ship and transport him as far away from Cybertron as I can. As long as Carus Pax does not know you're in possession of him, Iacon is safe but that can change. It's best that you prepare for the worst."

"Caught between annihilation at the hands of the Paxians or the subjugation of Kavornum and their Brethren scum, I'd rather see Iacon destroyed than have the people enslaved as service drones. Not that either one will happen," the Resistance leader said firmly, shaking his head. "No matter the outcome, be assured that we Junkers have yet begun to fight," Rivet declared, trying hard not to appear fazed by the warning.

Clapping a hand on the other bot's back, the Nova Star captain beamed. His optics danced merrily with mirth. "That's the spirit. If your make-shift army feels the same way then the Carus Pax and Kavornum will have more than enough of a battle on their hands."

------------------------------------------

Perhaps it was a natural trait that developed among the Junkers that came with drive for survival. Foresight, hindsight, or whatever the hell it was that kept them alive had fine tuned them to see hidden dangers ahead. An almost innate instinct of the outcomes had its drawbacks however, and mistrust of others was one of them. It was by experience that they learned that there was always an ulterior motive even when two people work for the same common goal. And there was always a chance that the other party was liable to take advantage and strike when they see vulnerability or opportunity. Indeed one well known Remnant saying was that "one must judge the worst and prove the best."

Rivet was no different. After years of striving to become one of the wealthiest merchants in Iacon's scavenging business, he gained the ability to see past much lies and deceptions. He knew that despite the seemly generous offer by Razor to transport the scientist away was not done for the benefit of Iacon. Indeed, Razor's true motive was solely for the gain of his crew and himself. Pirates cared nothing about alliances, loyalties, or commitments, save the bonds they shared between each other.

Ever the opportunists, they were willing to fuel the Resistance movement by smuggling supplies but refused to pull the trigger themselves. If war favored the rebels, it meant the pirates gained a new trade partner. If it was a lost cause, it was merely a bad investment. Either way, the bandits won.

Unfortunately the Resistance depended on such irresolute individuals to fund the cause. Nevertheless, in their optics, the pirates were no more than business partners, never true allies.

Besides supplies, Rivet and the Resistance had one other reason for their business association with the Nova Star. It was their only source of news of the universe outside Cybertron.

Though forced to live in isolation and scorned as roughnecks from a backwater planet, the Remnant craved word of the outside as they craved energon. It seemed that regardless of how cold and indifferent the universe was to them, the Junkers still sought acceptance, dreaming of one day rejoining the union among the stars. It was what made them unique among their hopeless and forlorn contemporaries. Although they toiled and endured the same hardships as everyone else, every once and a while a Junker would look up with a yearning in his spark, becoming aware that he was more than this.

Perhaps it was the simple fact that they fixed things that altered their otherwise fatalistic thinking. There was something gratifying and inspiring about restoring what was deemed broken, unfixable, or worthless. They realized that with time, imagination, and hard work, beauty can be found among the refuse. It symbolized their existence, challenging the old beliefs of perpetual condemnation.

There were a growing number of those who thought this way, fueled by the lessons Kup boldly taught under the ever watchful eye of the Chops. It was because of the efforts of this his old war veteran that Cybertron could dream again, seeking for something better. They were united in the belief that any life was better than the one they lead now, a world where the tyrants served as arbitrator of life and death and drained the life force from Iacon's people.

If it took the help of Outsiders like Razor and his merry band of rogues then so be it. Rivet knew that if he played his cards right both parties may benefit. He just had to make sure that Razor did not try to swindle on their partnership.

With these suspicions in mind, Rivet ushered Razor into a musty corridor that was much smaller and older than the rest of the Catacomb passageways. Heavily guarded with high level clearance, this section was reserved for the greatest enemies of the Resistance. Truth be told, these cells were actually the tombs of the ancient world of the Classic Age. Where the remains of the original occupants were Rivet knew not. It was here that their "guests" resided, placed in solitary confinement.

They had turned the hall where they were accosted by their newly appointed lieutenant (the previous one was slain by the Chops) who at times struck the fear of Primus into Rivet's spark with her blazing wrath.

"Unicron's beard," ranted Roadtorque. "Did ya had to treat these guys as if they were Greaseslide and Gear Scythe themselves?" She turned her blazing golden optics on her superior.

Holding his hands up, Rivet tried to appease her. "You know our policy of imprisoning Outsiders. Be grateful we hadn't done so to the others."

She sniffed angrily. "As if you have the circuits to toss your pacifist friend Quickstealth into these pit holes. Shadowhydra and Kup would never forgive you if ya did, and neither would I."

At this Razor rose an optic ridge to his stouter companion. "Pacifist friend? Is the movement so desperate so as to attempt to impress neutrals into its ranks?"

"For your information, he is one of my regular shop customers," huffed Rivet indignantly. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Shack residents know nothing about my political affiliations."

"Was it necessary to bring him and this Shadowhydra into this? We only need Kup."

Roadtorque sighed. "It's that stupid Sidesweep's fault for dragging them all into this by showing up at their shop, right in the middle of the Market of all places! He practically declared them traitors to the Order. If we didn't take them in they would have been killed by the Chops."

"Interesting," Razor said simply, clearly showing his impatience to get to the questioning quickly, much to Rivet's dislike.

If he wants the Paxian technology for himself he's slagging crazy, Rivet thought warily. If Sidesweep was going to reveal anything Rivet will be there. Whatever that has Carus Pax on edge was sure to be an advantage to possess, and may very well be their only bargaining chip if the Carus Pax fleet moved their way.

Somehow the answers given by Sidesweep now seemed inadequate to explain why these events were happening. What was Carus Pax wanting to cover up? Why and how involved was King Pin in this? The more Rivet thought about it the less it made sense. Surely warp gate technology cannot bring such a calamity.

For once Rivet was glad to have smooth-talking Razor at hand. For all the gifts of seeing through duplicity that he possessed, Rivet was an absolute failure when it came to interrogating. Swindling customers over goods was far easier than extracting information.

The only thing Rivet could discern was that Sidesweep, though telling the truth, was hiding something nonetheless. The sly mech answered only enough to keep himself from being punished. He had one of the most guarded minds Rivet ever faced.

With hope, Razor would pry the answers from him.


End file.
